


Phoenix

by Sombraline



Series: Tale of Trust [3]
Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Frostiron Bang 2015, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multiple Lokis, Rescue Mission, Self-Hatred, Torture, frostiron bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:12:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5146487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sombraline/pseuds/Sombraline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki and Tony have yet to wonder out loud if they accidentally became more than friends with benefits when Tony receives a worrisome call, in the form of a short plea for help from his favorite Trickster God, now gone missing without a trace in Latveria. </p><p>A joke, a trap, probably; perhaps Loki is, really, just going back to his old tricks and working with other villains again, and Thor is nowhere in sight to argue in his brother's favor.</p><p>And Tony worries still, because Loki once told him of his too many enemies, before, and he still has trouble believing that he would be betrayed so heartlessly by his... friend?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> This story, my first participation to the Frostiron Bang, mixes in elements of the Avengers movies with the serie of comics Loki: Agent of Asgard. Although I advise every Loki fan drop this fic and runs to a comic store to purchase this serie instead, there's no need to have read it to understand what is going on.
> 
> For a brief summary of how I'm taking this: Loki died in Thor 2, killed by the Dark Elves. Thor, feeling guilty, brought him back to the life in the appearance of a child/teenager to give him a chance at a new life. Asgard, though, is not known for its acceptance of change, and Loki quickly had to come live on Earth to escape the revenge of those his past self harmed. Frostiron, of course, ensued. 
> 
> Warning: Brief descriptions of torture (with loads of comfort) and mentions of sex which, if you squint really hard, can be perceived as underage.
> 
> Hope you like this!

His fingers danced frantically on the small keyboard, pushing the familiar letters with a desperate urgency. He had no time to end the sentence he was typing, but he saw the bot's movement coming in time to hit _send_ before the Starkphone was slapped out of his hands and crushed by a heavy, metallic boot on the stone floor.

“Faster,” the mechanical soldier snapped as though there had been no interruption, tightening his grip on Loki's right arm and shoving him a step forward.

“Now, now, are we really in all that much of a hurry? Surely your master is a busy, busy man - being the king of a realm any size certainly is a lot of strain, I would know-”

“Silence,” the Doombot on his right ordered, his grip bruising on Loki's shoulder.

“Faster,” the one on his left added, his empty eyes meeting the young god's before again shoving him forward, seeming not to care in the slightest if he could keep up at all.

“There really is no need for all this fuss! You know I stay out of Doom's way, I was just searching for a way out!”

“Silence.”

“Faster.”

Loki cursed silently, barely able to keep up with the two robots' long steps, well aware that they would just drag him behind if he lost his footing at any moment. Panting, he tossed a glance over his shoulder, searching the remains of his phone on the paved street. It was no more now than a pile of broken glass and plastic, not looking like much as far as hopes of salvation went.

He tried to brace himself for the truth, grim as truth always happened to be: the chances that Tony had received his message were smaller than those of convincing the Doombots of letting him go. As for the chances of the billionaire somehow understanding his short message and flying to his rescue as though he were an innocent civilian-

He was better off forgetting he had even believed in this for one desperate instant, he told himself, feeling his stomach knotting as he struggled in the tight grip of the two guards. Heroes saved innocent civilians. Loki hardly qualified, did he? And Tony - Tony liked him, but Tony was no fool.

Stark.

 _Stark_ was no fool.

He came no closer to freeing himself as he was dragged through the sinister streets of Latveria, all empty and disturbingly similar to each other. He took a deep, nervous breath in as the guards pulled him toward Doom's castle, as he had seen it on Google Maps and had decided to never visit it. The door opened when one of the soldiers pressed his hand to a square of glass, and he was pulled by force over the treshold when his feet caught on it.

The decoration was old, reminding him of old fortresses the like of which dwarves enjoyed, with as little light as possible filtering in. The furniture was probably all as old as him, as was the dusty carpet in which his feet caught several times as he tried to take long and deep calming breaths, telling himself that perhaps his fear had been exaggerated, that maybe Doom was nowhere as cruel, terrifying, unyielding and absolutely impossible to bargain with as he had been led to believe.

Maybe they could speak together like civilised beings, of the general things green-clad villains regularly talked about, the metal man would never notice that Loki was a tiny bit younger than he used to be, and he could go on his merry way before the dictator realised anything was off.

Maybe Odin would tell him he was proud of him, too, while he was at it.

The path to what he assumed to be Doom's office (or throne room, who knew?) was a short and direct one, though they went through enough securities that it was no wonder they didn't worry too much about their prisoner finding his way in the castle. He memorised six codes, but his nervousness was making it hard to focus while passing under the gigantic and numerous portraits of the master of the house, which did not quite looked like they had been made to show Doom's softer side of loving kittens and taking care of blind orphans.

It was all very Asgardian, really. More along the lines of 'holding the decapitated head of his enemies' and 'taking a dramatic pose on a floor covered in crushed bones'.

They finally came to a halt before two gigantic doors of mahogany. The Doombot on the left again scanned his hand in front of a glass panel, before opening one of the doors, not bothering with any knocking. Loki had a few brief instants to look around the study, finding more portraits and bookshelves filled with old, dusty tomes whose sole purpose appeared to be to support the clear jars filled with brightly-colored and possibly mucus-covered things.

The bots shoved him forward once again, then pulled his arms behind his back and locked them in a tight hold there. Loki took a deep breath, trying to school his expression as the seat behind the desk turned slowly. He was trying to find what words to use to start on good terms with Doom, when he took a half-step back in horrified shock.

It was not Doom.

It was the old one, the 'King' Loki, the scar-lipped old man, who sat there in place of the expected metal man, smiling at him, stroking an old magpie's head like one would have a purring cat's. He looked the same as he had the last few times he had taunted and haunted him, appearing in his nightmares and in dark streets; he looked the same as every time Loki had managed to escape him with the unpleasant sensation that this was just a play of cat and mouse that would put him in a worse situation later. The fur on his shoulders looked ragged; his horns were long and twisted, his green eyes dancing with madness, his grin that of a maniac who had lost everything.

And blamed him for it.

“Oh, my, my, my, who finally decided to come visit his old, lonely relative?”

Loki shook his head, tongue-tied by shock and growing panic. He again tried to escape the two soldiers' powerful grip, but it was like trying to fight a pair of Thors. The old Loki grinned at seeing his efforts, gesturing with his chin; he was shoved to his knees without kindness.

“Not who you expected, did you?” The King's voice was delighted. “Do not worry, our dear Victor is on his way home. He will be very pleased to see you, but not, I dare say, as pleased as I am.”

“Let go of me. You have no right to hold me here,” Loki hissed, and he wasn't sure if he was speaking to his older self, or trying desperately to put the two robots on his side. Either way, it only caused the old Loki to laugh with mirth.

“Oh no, no, no right. Who will stop me? Precious Thor? Did he not bring you here?”

Loki pressed his lips together, cursing his brother and cursing this older self who smiled so knowingly.

“Let go of me,” he spat.

“I would think not. You and I, we have a _lot_ to discuss, little Loki.” The joy was gone from the King's voice. “A lot of it. And I have no plan for us to be interrupted this time. But you're in a bad, pouty mood as usual, never ready to listen; youngsters, they are all the same, are they not?” He questioned the Doombots, who remained politely silent. “We'll guide you to your little room for little stubborn boys, and we'll talk later.”

“I'm serious,” Loki snapped, trying to sound half as confident as he felt as the robots forced him back up on his feet. “I'm serious, you won't get away with this! People will notice I'm gone!”

“Aw, how cute. Don't worry, little Loki. One day, you'll know how to lie better, even to yourself. Chop chop, boys, I want to know if he likes his room!”

 

********** 

_latveria doombots help ask Tho_

Tony read the message several times, eyes wide, unblinking. In his chest, the reactor was agitated, roaring like an overheating engine.

The message, it appeared, had been received somewhere around six PM on the previous day. Eighteen hours later, still in boxers and not entirely awake, Tony had bothered to sit for breakfast and ask JARVIS if anything interesting had come up since he had given the order to not bother him about anything, end of the world included, until he was done tinkering with his latest project.

Bruce had implied a few days ago that Tony's eating habits were the trainwreck they were because he had yet to invent a robot to take care of that for him; the following discussion (filled with sighs from the other scientist) had led to Tony working on creating an automated scanning system for the kitchen capable of telling spoiled goods from edible ones. (And maybe the entire thing had started because Tony had drank spoiled orange juice without noticing, so he did have some interest in that.)

It was not an epic quest to forever change science as they knew it. It was just a small challenge to see if he could do it, and because he had nothing better to do while Loki was in Asgard with Thor.

The Thunderer had appeared a week earlier, discreet as he always knew to be (a good thing, for once; Tony had no desire to find out what Thor would have said had he walked in the workshop five minutes earlier and found Loki demonstrating his always sharpening lingual skills on Tiny Tony), informing his little brother that Odin demanded to have a few words with him about a mission or another. Loki had appeared more than reluctant, though Tony had assumed that part of his grumpiness was owed to Thor's ill-timed interruption. Still, there had been no occasion to speak in private before the Aesirs departed without saying when they would come back.

And so, Tony kept himself busy, tinkering away in his lab with music at full blast to fill in the silence. He had even switched some of his favorite rock records to a few of the horrible, weird, ear-piercing, mystic acapella band music that the tiny god of Mischief enjoyed to listen to. Just to get in the same creative mood as Loki's talking or toying with his violin could.

(Loki had never admitted to it. He only listened to it when he slept alone in his bedroom, on Thor's floor, somewhere he rarely bothered to visit in the first place. Tony didn't ask questions, nor did he ask Loki why he would sometimes appear there at night and sleep through the morning before disappearing back to his apartment. He couldn't act clingy and annoy Loki. Plus, he was a grown reborn god. It was his own business.)

It wasn't the first time the two gods left for Asgard without further explaining. Loki was apparently performing small missions around the World Tree thing for the King and Queen, something about building himself a new reputation in Asgard as a not-villain. He would be gone for one or two weeks, then act as though nothing particular had happened. Tony had asked about his trips once, but Loki had not given much of an answer, telling him instead about what new spell he had purchased for his boots in Alfheim or some such.

He hadn't known Loki was home already, and he didn't want to check his phone every five minutes or send a message to ask when the Trickster would visit again. So he set himself to work, and forgot about him just as well as he forgot about everyone else.

The program for the food-evaluating bot was complete, now. He had gotten a nice night of sleep. He had woken up wondering what now. And JARVIS had kindly informed him of what he had missed.

_help_

_latveria_

He spent perhaps thirty seconds looking at his phone's screen, perfectly still.

“Where was the message sent from, J'?”

“Recovering the information now, Sir.”

Loki was perhaps joking. Loki was a brat. He joked, sometimes. He made silly jokes just to laugh at Tony. He would laugh hysterically sometimes when he managed to make him believe something, an excited little 'eheheh' that made him look even younger, if it was possible now. He laughed when he managed to drive Clint crazy by playing purposefully awful, dissonant notes on his violin, bringing the worst out of the creative insults of the archer, or when he would startle Bucky into one of his high-pitched screams of surprise. Once, he had laughed until he was crying, and Tony hadn't managed to be angry, even if he had been the victim of the latest prank (namely, tentacles instead of hands appearing whenever he touched water, something that had been a certain shock in the shower).

It wasn't funny to pretend to be in danger, though. It was annoying, like that time he had acted like his backside was killing him just because he didn't want to leave Tony's bed already.

“It would appear the message was sent yesterday from Latveria, Sir. Exact coordinates are not available, given the country's security measures.”

Tony cursed, tossed the Starkphone on the counter, and drank one long gulp of pineapple juice. He didn't like the taste and it stung at his tongue. It replaced alcohol, a little.

“Can you track the phone?”

“Again, Latveria has strong measures to ensure its safety in the matter of satellite espionage, Sir,” JARVIS replied calmly. “It might take a while to access it.”

“Screw that, it's a waste of time. Get me into Doom's shit.”

A pause. “Sir?”

“Get to it. His castle, his stupid robots, find Loki now. If he's there, I want to know where and what's happening.”

“Sir, I might need to remind you that Victor Von Doom will not take well to an intrusion in his system from an American, leave alone an Avenger. He is not unlikely to take any attempt as a war declaration-”

“Then don't get noticed,” Tony interrupted, getting his phone back and immediately starting to type a number. “I'm not asking, JARVIS, I'm telling you to do it. Avengers,” he said, throat dry, when a tone on the other end of the line told him he was in contact, “Assemble. Right now. Living room. Leave the weapons for now. Somebody get Thor.”

 _What, so you really don't have villains-only parties?_ He had asked once while resting his head on Loki's stomach. _That's disappointing. I was one hundred percent sure you guys did something for Halloween, at least. Like, Madam Hydra would probably host the entire thing, Doom would do the dancing, Magneto would bring little cupcakes decorated with decapitated heads. No?_

 _No. Villains don't have a lot of unity_ , the Trickster had replied, stroking his hair lazily. _They only have enemies and the occasional pawn. I would hardly meet with them if I can avoid them._

_But you did. Meet with them, before, I mean. The occasional pawn, that was your thing, right? Before you turned young again._

There had been a silence, the stroking never stopping.

_It was. It hardly makes me friendlier in their eyes, I believe._

_Mmh_ , Tony had mused. _Any of them likely to be really mad at you?_

_Several of them. Most would take advantage of my recent... shrinking, admittedly._

_Names?_

_Why do you care?_

_I don't. I just like to know stuff. You should know that, by now._

_...Amora would have my head. Magneto has vague respect for Asgardians, long as we don't bother him. HYDRA would love to experiment on me, if they could. Thanos's the danger he is. Doom had... chaotic relationships with my older self. They were partners in some regards, in actions I do not wish to think of. I fear what he would do should I learn of my... change. And then, there's..._

_...Yeah?_

Loki had been quiet for a while, even though his voice had been even and calm through the listing of his enemies. When he had spoken again, it had been with a light tone.

_Well, that's most of them. Several heroes are still out for my blood, too. I lost count, I suppose._

_You were going to mention someone else._

_I was going to repeat myself, is all. Some... Some of my foes you would not believe exist. It doesn't matter much. I can defend myself and stay away from my enemies._

Tony had hoped so. Loki had changed the topic. Tony had wondered often, trying to think of villains Loki had worked with or betrayed.

But Doom. Doom had him, now, somehow, and he feared what it could mean.

He drank another long gulp of pineapple juice and moved to the living room while JARVIS settled to work without further arguing with his creator. He knew him enough to recognise a non-negotiable task.

********** 

 

Loki had read quite a bit about Norse Mythology and the stories that humans had invented or remembered about him and the rest of Asgard, since he had started to visit Earth on a regular basis. Some tales were hilarious, some were just plain insulting. Some made him wonder, questioning if they had ever happened and he could simply not remember them from his past life.

He had considered asking Thor if Geirrod was a foe they truly had met, but had kept himself from doing so, in case he was. The story claimed a giant had captured him, held him in a box for three months, and then had forced him to betray his brother. The fact that he had complied with the enemy's demand, in the myth, had made him unwilling to speak of such an inglorious moment.

King Loki, it seemed, had knowledge of that particular myth. _He_ seemed to have enjoyed it quite a lot.

His prison was small, too small. It was barely worth that name, in fact. It was a box, a chest not wider than a cage for a middle-sized dog, and not higher than his knee from the ground. He could feel the metal on each side of his hips and still had suspicions that the prison had shrunk after the King had locked him in, to justify the fact that he had fit in it in the first place. His back was to the floor, his head to the wall, with his knees pressed nearly to his shoulders and his feet against the lid. His hands would either rest awkwardly in his lap, or he would have to fold his arms over his stomach.

Any position he tried to adapt into made his limbs stiffen and ache, muscles straining and pulling miserably; he wished his captor would have at least removed his coat, the metal buckles digging into his flesh with no hope of relieving the pressure.

His first move had been to kick furiously at the lid, shrieking and struggling furiously without so much as making the chest budge; he had then tried to make the metal bend or break with magic if not muscle, with no more result. The King knew him, clearly, well enough to know his skills.

It was a terrifying thought, to know that this future self, with abilities and powers greater than anything he had at the moment, had probably created the prison himself with the absolute certainty that he couldn't get out.

He had tried to remember what he had read one day about medieval torture devices meant to kill someone slowly by holding their limbs in an unnatural position, stopping the blood flow in the continued immobility. He knew rationally that his older self would not kill him. He was not certain how this all worked, but surely the King was aware that he would disappear if he killed his past self, right?

It did little to reassure him that he was safe, and that was before the first heat wave hit him.

He had started feeling uncomfortable and warm rapidly, but had assumed at first it was due to a combination of the confined space, his useless and desperate trashing, and his large coat. Then the King's words had slowly made him realise that his prison was a little more than an uncomfortable box.

The heat had started being unbearable rapidly, the air thickening, it felt like. The metal walls trapping him in place were hot like cooking stoves, even through the clothing he tried to use as protection. He felt his breathing shortening and breaking, felt the sweat breaking, drenching his clothes in no time, only making him feel like he was choking in the humid warmth. His brain ached, felt like it was melting in his skull. His heart was beating too hard, his hands shook.

And the King would _not stop speaking_.

Not since he had brutally shoved him into the box, stepping on his stomach to hold him in place like a squirming insect, had he taken an instant to catch his breath. Loki guessed he was sitting on the lid of the box, unaffected by the useless trashing of his victim in his warm metal coffin.

The metal was thick and solid, but he heard his voice like he was speaking cheerfully right in his ear.

“Do you know where I got the idea from? From our brother, of course, our dear brother dearest,” he would say, and Loki could picture him, legs crossed, voice light and careless, possibly painting his nails as he chatted with his prisoner.

“Thor, beloved Thor, the one who swore to protect and help us, did he not? You genuinely think he would take care of you now, don't you? Are you praying he'll come and get you out of there anytime soon? Ah, he won't, he certainly won't. Not that he could _find_ the place, you know these blonds- but he wouldn't, if he could, nor would daddy dearest for sure. No, they both ordered that box - well, a similar one - for you right from Nidavellir. Or they will, in a few decades, to punish me. Us. You. They'd deny it now, of course. They might even believe it themselves, wouldn't they?”

And he would go on, and on, and _on_. He spoke of Loki's future as of his own, unchangeable past. He spoke of spending years taking missions for Asgard, and genuinely trying to _change_ , all with the tone of one who talked of his youth's foolish mistakes with an indulgent smile.

He told him of how he was doomed anyway; that nobody would buy his change of heart. That it didn't matter how he tried, he would never be worthy in anyone's eyes. That sooner or later, he would snap again and prove them right.

And that it was his future, and that he should embrace it instead of wasting time.

“I hope you're lying comfortable in there and listening carefully, little Loki,” he interrupted himself after a while. “This is an important story. I'm doing this for your own good. You have to listen well. Young as you are, the story that matters is _yours_. I think it's just fair that I tell it to you. The story that turns you, inevitably, into _me_. The story of why you can never be anything else. You can't do it. The day you lift the hammer, they'll think it's a trick and look away. I'm really only trying to spare you some efforts and actually make you successful, for once.”

At this point, the leather of his coat felt just as warm as the metal it was stuck against. He was so thirsty he felt his lips cracking and his mouth feeling full of something sticky that he couldn't wash away with saliva, making him nauseous. Hearing the absolute nonsense outside of the box made him cry out in rage and give a kick on the lid.

“You're insane! I'll never be like you!” He spat, barely holding back a whimper the next instant as he let his head fall back against the metal wall. His heart was beating furiously from the effort, his muscles tensed with cramps.

He heard a loud laugh, hysterical and cheerful.

“Do you know why you're so warm, little one?” The King questioned, and Loki was almost glad not to be able to see the smile he could so easily hear. “You're Laufey's son. You're a Jötun, an enemy of Asgard by your very birth. Can't you see that you're just _fated_ to this? Would you force a bird to breathe in water, too?”

He didn't answer. His lungs were burning too much. He gave one half-hearted punch to the metal.

“Get me out of here,” he pleaded under his breath, wishing he had had five minutes longer to warn Thor, to warn Tony, before he was stuck with this maniac with no idea how to get out.

Was he supposed to follow the myth? He wondered vaguely. To betray himself, obey the King to better defeat him? It was a foolish hope, he knew before trying. The man knew him too well.

It was the reason why he felt so hopeless, why his brain barely worked in hope to find a way out; it was why he had never searched, nor found ways to escape him, ever since he had seen his shadow creeping behind his back, heard his voice in his dreams when he slept alone. Because his enemy was Loki, and nothing he could do would be of use against him. The King would expect anything he would try.

There was no escaping this by himself. And others... Those who might care... Were there any?

A fit of laughter interrupted him once more.

“Foolish, cute little thing. Get you out of here? Who are you praying to? Brother dearest? Thor will not help you. He dropped you nearly into my lap himself, forcing you out of Asgard to save himself the trouble of protecting you again. And were he here, would he know which Loki to hit with Mjölnir? He would never see any difference between your touching innocence and my absolute evilness. He, after all, never did!”

There was the tone of hysterical anger mixing in with the maniac glee in the crazy King's voice. Loki closed his eyes tightly, hearing his blood beating against his temple, feeling like if he wasn't in the dark, he would see himself sweating purple, Frost Giant blood. He realised absently, while thinking so, that his skin had in fact turned dry again. He was not sweating anymore.

“Thor always loved the _idea_ of you, little Loki, I must give him that,” the man above him started again, with a voice that implied he had just taken a deep breath to calm himself. “But can you not see how he wants you? You died in his arms, protecting him from Malekith with your own body. A true hero's death, one he would run toward himself! And he thanks you by bringing you back a fragile, useless little boy, innocent and incapable of any true magic. He loves an illusion he will never believe in now that you're growing again, turning yourself into a man! It's only a matter of time before he starts blaming you for everything, before he calls you dangerous and punishes you before you have the time to do anything wrong, and nobody else will care!”

“Let me out,” Loki pleaded, eyes shut. He wondered if his eyes could melt. It felt like they would.

“No, no no no. Not now. I need your promise, before - I know you cannot lie, not anymore,” the King stated, voice disdainful. “You'll get out when you're done with those foolish ideas of being a hero, when you want nothing but to see Asgard in ruins. Then we can talk, little one.”

“It's not going to happen,” Loki croaked out, exhaustion and despair making his voice break slightly. “You'll kill us both first.”

“I am doing this for your own good!” The King snapped, sounding offended, and he seemed to kick his foot against the lid of the box, sending an unpleasant vibration through the prison and making Loki nauseous. “Thor will get stronger, stronger, always stupidly stronger! You will not always have the power to kill him! You have to kill him before it's too late, and if I need to force you to do it, I will! And you'll thank me later!”

He sounded hysterical and genuinely convinced that he was speaking perfectly sane words. Loki, despite himself, couldn't help but listen to his future self, to that Loki who had lived more than him and, if his words held any truth, had fought for years longer to become good and be respected. With no results, he claimed.

 _You are Loki and Loki is alone_ , he had told himself every time the missions were hard.

It was what he had told himself when he had finished his mission for the Allmother and taken a night to rest, to feast in Asgard, only to be assaulted on the way to his own bedroom later at night, an unequal fight of five against one that had covered him in more bruises than the mission itself had.

He was Loki and Loki was alone, he had repeated himself, limping to his room, limbs aching and heart bitter.

Marcus, the leader of the attack, had woken up the next morning with his voice transformed, as if he had breathed in helium. Loki's petty vengeance had nearly landed him in deep trouble as Marcus's father, Tyr, had immediately guessed who was guilty of the 'crime'. Thor had grabbed him and brought him to Midgard rapidly, asking him if he had _really_ needed to do one of his jokes now. He had had no time to protest, nor to notice where, exactly, they had landed, before Thor had told him not to get into trouble and had called the Bifrost again, going back to fix the situation. Leaving him in enemy land, with not even a weapon other than his little Starkphone.

It didn't matter. He was himself and he was alone, and he had to defend himself the way he could, he told himself, trying to sound convincing. It changed nothing. More missions would erase more past crimes, would gain him new respect. It was only a matter of time.

“I'll let you cook and think a little, you ungrateful, stupid little brat,” the King spat furiously, kicking the lid again several times. The noise was deafening and painful. “We'll see if you like me better when Victor is here.”

There was the sound of footsteps and mumbling, both getting harder to hear as his captor walked away. Loki breathed in a shaky breath, wanting to call him back, to beg him to be let out, the idea of being left here any time longer making him shiver. He barely kept himself from doing it.

It was only a matter of time, he repeated himself. This other Loki had made a mistake somewhere. He would be smarter. He would be worthy. He would get out of here and be brave and flawless and be a hero.

(The idea of being worthy was exhausting, stuck as he was, the air thick and hot, his head filled with confusion and his limbs in pain. He wished he could fall asleep. He wished he could breathe.

He wished he lived a life in which his most terrifying enemy was not wearing his face and using his magic and speaking words that made sense.)

********** 

 

“So you're a hundred percent positive that Doom is holding Loki against his will?”

“I got a distress call coming from Latveria and I can't reach his phone since then! What else do you think is happening, they're having tea and biscuits?!”

“I wouldn't put it all that far past him.”

Tony shot a furious glare at Clint, whom didn't have the decency to look ashamed or sorry for his comment. Steve's jaws were clenched, the way they were when the Captain was having a dilemma over something. The mature part of Tony's mind was glad he was at least hesitating enough to have a dilemma. The rest of him wanted to shake him and ask how he could even still be at the hesitation stage.

“They're not _allies_. Doom worked with the old Loki before he died the first time, but he's been avoiding Latveria since Thor brought him back to life. Where is that stupid space viking anyway?” The engineer added under his breath to no one in particular, glancing at his phone. No answer or sign of life from Hammerhead. Just when he was needed, of course.

“Perhaps Doom thinks the new Loki can still be his ally this time,” Bruce observed pensively.

“And when he finds out that won't happen, what do you think will happen then? Decide they can still be friends and go their own way?”

“I'm just trying to think, Tony, calm down,” the doctor sighed.

Tony pressed his lips together impatiently, but did not further argue against his lab partner. Better not to take his exasperation out on him. He directed his impatience back to Steve, whom was looking infuriatingly calm about the entire thing and was being a perfect target for it.

“Look, if you won't help because you're still suspicious toward him, just say so. I'll be on my way instead of wasting my time.”

“Give it a minute, Tony,” the Captain groaned tiredly. “Look, you're asking us to, what, grab our weapons, enter Latveria illegally and rescue Loki, risking global war with Victor Von Doom if he sees us at any moment, when we have no idea if he is held against his will-”

“He is!”

“Or where, or how, or if we can even free him! Don't tell me it sounds reasonable even to you,” Steve insisted. “I'm not saying I won't lift a finger to protect Loki if that's what's happening, but for all we know, he can get out of there all by himself.”

“Tell me again that story of how you stole a cheerleader's helmet and went to rescue Bucky, Steve.”

The Captain did have the decency to look a little embarrassed. Bucky, sitting next to him, offered a considering pout that implied he had a good point there.

“All Steve is trying to say,” Natasha interfered carefully, “is that we do not know enough. Loki is not an Avenger, not officially. I'll admit he's been friendly since he was reborn, but he's not here all that often for us to get a solid opinion of his new personality, or is he?”

She knew, of course she knew. She knew everything, that infuriating woman. Clint frowned, seeming to notice she meant something with that, but she made no indication of noticing, eyes boring into the billionaire’s, prompting him to speak. Tony pressed his lips together. Perhaps he should tell them the truth now - if he only knew the truth.

Where did he stand with Loki? What was their relationship? It was a talk they both avoided carefully most days. He loved the kid. He didn't know just how far, and it was a scary thought. Worse so was that he had no idea how Loki felt toward him in return. It was not something he wanted to ponder in front of the assembled team.

Apparently, the universe hated him more and more today.

“Loki's important to me,” he said, the words feeling awkward on his dry tongue. “And I trust him not to be messing with us, saying he's in danger. I'm not going to wait for more proof.”

“What about Thor?” Pietro Maximoff interfered, offering a shrug when everyone turned to him. “I thought he was with his brother. Wouldn't he be aware if Loki was missing?”

“We can't base ourselves on that,” Tony protested before anyone could say another word. “Thunder and Lightning's not answering his phone and he didn't give any sign of life since he left for Asgard last week. Look, if there was a way to know for sure, I would be on it right now. JARVIS is hacking into Doom's systems as we speak, but that's all we have.”

“Of course he is,” Steve sighed, seeming completely done with Tony.

“Latveria's a big country,” Wanda observed pensively.

“And Doom has several fortresses and prisons aside from the royal palace,” Bucky stated suddenly. “We would be knee-deep in a full-out war before we find your lover.”

Fucking subtle, brainfreeze, thank you. Tony stiffened, ignoring the looks of disbelief he was getting from Sam, Steve, the twins, and Clint. He didn't know if he should feel relieved of the lack of surprise the others showed, or a little insulted that it had been so obvious for them to see.

“Well, if you're telling me no-”

“I'm telling you to wait,” Bucky interrupted, and that man had never learned about the concept of pretending to be intimidated by someone who was doing his best, “and be ready to leave when JARVIS has solid data. If that fucker hears you're in town, trying to get Loki, and he really is in his captivity, then it's not going to do him any good. He can panic and kill him, use him as an hostage, triple security before we find where he even is.”

“He's right,” Natasha stated in the silence that followed. “This needs to be a stealth mission. Your fireworks and rock music won't be helping. You want him out of there alive? If this is what it looks like, then you need to think this through like a spy.”

He wanted to be insulted. He wanted to tell them both that he knew how to be stealthy, thank you very much; they were not the only ones with vague ideas of the art of war. But he forced himself to swallow down any bitter comment and to be grateful for the fact that they were seemingly agreeing to help in this, even if he was aching to just grab a suit and fly to Europe right _now_.

“Well, it seems this isn't open for discussion,” Steve said, looking resigned. Ah. Of course he wouldn't argue with his precious boyfriend. Tony made a mental note to buy Bucky something nice. Maybe more knives. That guy loved his knives. “I'm going to hope that Loki is not tricking us, Tony. You... Are you and he really...?”

“We're friends,” Tony said quickly, again feeling his throat run dry. “And a little more. That doesn't matter. We should - I have a house in Sokovia, we should fly there already, to be closer when JARVIS gets us something solid.”

“It's gross,” Clint observed, looking a little disgusted and not listening. “Look, I don't really feel like being part of that mess. Bucky will do all the long-distance shooting and I'll keep the Tower safe while you're out there.”

Nobody protested, even if Tony wanted to let him know his attitude would cost him those new arrows he had promised him. Something stilled his tongue, kept him from replying to the archer. He knew he would get to enjoy bothering him and arguing with him. Somehow, it felt way too wrong to do something he would find even remotely fun while he knew Loki was in danger.

He had started by doubting it, like the others, but the more time went by, the more he was sure that this wasn't a joke, and the more his stomach knotted with the terror of each passing moment. He wanted to rush into action and _do something_ at least, mind working to imagine everything that could be happening to the small god, to wonder what would happen if he couldn't get to Latveria in time.

It made him want to puke. Loki was not immortal. Thor had dragged him out of Death's claws once, but it wasn't something that was made easily. Gods died.

And the thought of Loki never coming home made something in his chest grow cold enough to make his breathing shaky, as though the reactor was having a failure.

“We're leaving with the Quinjet at six,” he stated abruptly, forcing himself to take a long and deep breath. “Those who plan to be useful meet me at the dock half an hour early.”

He stood and left the room, forcing one foot in front of the other steadily until he was in the elevator. He could feel their eyes still on his back even as he punched the button of his lab's floor. He didn't stop himself from worrying about it. He had more important on his mind.

“Nothing new, J'?”

“Doom's systems are well protected, Sir.”

“...Just... Do your best,” he whispered, biting his lips.

_You better come back home with me, you little brat of a godling..._

_...I still have too many things I need to gather the courage to tell you._

********** 

Doom had come home indeed.

Loki had not managed to grasp whether or not the dictator had planned to capture him at all, or if his presence here was all his older self's doing with Doom's funding. By the time he had been kicked out of his small prison, his brain had felt like it was leaking out of his ears, not allowing for much reflection. He barely felt any relief from being out of the box, but it might not have been without reason; he briefly caught sight of the King fanning himself in a corner when Doom kicked him to roll on his back. They had matched the temperature of the room with that of his box. Charming.

Then he caught sight of the drink the other Loki held, so cold the glass was covered in droplets of water. He felt his lips cracking and something that tasted like blood on his tongue as he tried to open his mouth, looking at the glass feverishly.

He could not move. His cramped muscles were too stiff for that. How long had he been in that box?

“He doesn't look very fresh.”

Doom, he realised. Somewhere above him. A metal boot kicked him in the ribs. He felt like he might throw up if it was aimed a little bit toward his stomach.

“It is sort of the _point_ , my oblivious friend,” the King said lightly. “I'm being very generous, offering to let you play with him a little. This is my past self we're speaking of. I think I get to call dibs on him. If you won't take me up on that offer, put him back in his box.”

“I am very much interested, Loki. I simply want to make sure I won't have reason to regret this. I know you enough to be wary of an apparent weakness.”

“What do you want him to do, sweat on you? Ah.” The old Asgardian sipped at the pink straw that was popping out of his glass in an unnecessarily noisy process. “Don't kill him, and stop what you're doing the instant he becomes reasonable. It's simple enough.”

“I do not want my castle destroyed by a God of Thunder. _Again._ ”

“Thor will not interfere.”

“Thor has been known to interfere where his brother is concerned, at times.”

“Thor will _not_ interfere! He never interferes, never in time! He's useless, do you hear?!”

The voice was suddenly angry. Doom was quiet, his expressionless metal face studying Loki's, until he heard a miserable whimper at his feet. The younger god's hand trembled as he tried to lift it. It seemed to get the old Loki back in a good mood, and he sipped another long gulp of his drink, smiling.

“You hear me, little Loki? Thor's not coming. Nobody's coming. Nobody's going to save you, but yourself. You're Loki. Loki is alone. Face it, boy, it's the one reasonable choice. I'll even give you a drink to celebrate you coming to your senses.”

Loki's face crumbled. His skin felt itchy and dry, now that he was not stuck in the humid, closed box. His entire form shuddered, and yet he still felt as though his insides were turning liquid with every passing moment in the impossible heat. His lips cracked again as he parted them, fingers feebly twitching toward the glass. He was so thirsty... Nobody was coming... Nobody would come...

Who would know Loki better than Loki? Maybe he was right, maybe it was useless.

His mouth felt so dry. His brain ached.

Thor wouldn't come... Thor had dropped him here.

(But there's more than Thor.)

Nobody was coming.

(Why doesn't he name _him?_ There's more than Thor.

He knows already Thor won't help him. But there's more than Thor.)

The King was crouching near to him, suddenly, patting his cheek. The burned skin felt like it might tear from the single, almost affectionate touch. The old man was smiling, lips covered in scars, looking almost empathetic.

A drop of condensation fell on his cheek from the glass. He heard someone whimpering, a strangled and miserable sound, while his throat ached. Had he just made that pitiful noise ?

“Nobody's coming, little Loki. Thor doesn't care. I'm doing this for your own good. Just come to your senses and the entire glass is yours.”

(Why did he only speak of Thor? Why didn't he know who Loki was really praying to?

Maybe Tony wasn't coming either.

Why wouldn't he taunt him about him?)

The glass looked so cold. The water so delicious...

He shook his head, and immediately felt his chest tighten with the regrets of what he was doing to himself.

The King cried in impatient rage and smashed the glass to the floor. Loki tried to roll to his side, to reach for it, but he was brutally kicked in the stomach and the nausea nailed him in place .

“Have fun with him, Victor. Warn me when a bit of sense will be coming to him,” he heard his older self's bitter, impatient voice as his footsteps echoed toward the exit, not an instant before he felt a metallic hand closing in his hair, forcing him off the ground.

The manacles that closed around his wrists were made of an ordinary metal, he realised absentmindedly; meant to keep him in place, not to hold back the trashing of a being of superhuman strength. It was a cruel mockery, but he had to recognise it was not wrong; he couldn't even fight the bonds, merely hold back a cry of pain as his pained arms were pulled up above his head.

“I admit, I do not understand exactly what you are in relation to my advisor,” he heard Doom speak calmly. “But I will hardly refuse an opportunity given to me so generously. You look like the heat in this room inconveniences you, little godling, worse than it would even a mere human. The other one didn't fare well, either. Tell me why that is.”

“I dunno.” Loki's voice faltered, so tired. So, so tired. The water had been so close...

Doom hummed. Something metallic clicked. Loki felt his leather coat being pulled from his skin. It felt like it had melted on him and he shuddered as it was removed without kindness.

“Well, Loki seems to think you will heal from any serious damage, if I am slow enough in my progress, little Loki. It should do just fine. It doesn't do good to rush studies. Take all your time before you change your mind regarding his offer.”

Clenching his jaws in anticipation was too painful to do. He held back his screams for a pathetic total of fifteen minutes. He didn't cry, but it felt like it was because he simply had no tears to shed.

 

********** 

“Lunch just arrived, Tony. You should eat a little.”

“I'm not hungry, thanks.”

“...Refusing to eat or sleep won't help Loki, you know. You'll need to be in good shape if we have to go rescue him.”

“I said I'm not hungry, Steve.”

He heard the Captain sighing, then fidget a little at the door.

“Just... Eat. Eventually,” he offered after a moment, sounding resigned.

“Will do, thanks.”

Tony waited until he heard the Captain's footsteps going away from the door before he rubbed his eyes and let his head fall between his hands, listening to the silence and waiting.

Making it all the way to Sokovia had been a short relief, keeping him busy while he piloted the jet and while he rediscovered his property. The villa was an unnecessarily luxurious one, three stories of white walls and huge, shiny windows; he couldn't remember if he had bought it himself or if it had been a property of Howard before, but he was almost sure he had held a party in here when he was finishing MIT. The Avengers that had come along (Natasha, Steve, Bucky, and Pietro and Wanda) had scattered to pick a room for themselves while Tony installed a ghost version of JARVIS in the house. They would be warned with a maximum of point seven seconds of delay the instant he was finally accessing Doom's dark secrets. It would have to do.

Afterward, he had managed to keep himself busy for a while, welcoming Wanda's help in making a few calls to make sure that the cleaning lady would not be coming for a week, then to order pizzas for the night and a bit of groceries for the (hopefully) short delay they would be here. With Natasha's assistance, he had turned the living room into an infirmary. Just in case, she had said reassuringly. His throat had felt tight nonetheless.

Then there had been nothing else to do in the unused, elegant house, and he had set to working on his suit, breaking it down to pieces and putting it back together without real use, just to pass the time. He worked hurriedly, always assembling the armor back together with a sense of urgency, feeling that this was it, JARVIS would speak at any given moment, he had to get ready to interfere - only to find himself staring at the assembled piece of armor, waiting again.

“Still nothing at all, J'?” He asked softly.

“I cleared a few options out by examining the less protected locations, Sir,” the AI replied patiently. “It is becoming more likely that Loki is in the royal castle of Latveria, although it doesn't say much of his precise location.”

“Well, keep looking,” Tony murmured, both grateful and despairing that there was not a single drop of alcohol in this house to distract him from this.

“I am aware it is none of my business, Sir,” the AI said, after a quiet pause. “But may I express my concerns over this situation?”

Tony blinked a few times, surprised by the question. It was a little unlike JARVIS to formulate opinions when he was not expressly asked to do so, and he even sounded... hesitant. The display of personality didn't surprise Tony. The feeling of betrayal that bubbled in his chest was new, though.

“I really don't need somebody else telling me he's tricking me,” he refused quietly, eyes on the gauntlet he was once more breaking down to pieces.

“It is not what I mean, Sir. My worries are that Dr. Doom, it would appear, has come up with ways to hold a god. No creations of either SHIELD nor HYDRA managed this so far, that we know of. I would consider it likely that he is not, in fact, working alone. It might be worthy of consideration that an enemy of Loki, an outsider to Earth, is helping him.”

“...I... Yeah, I -wait, JARVIS, wait. You -you think like me? That he's in danger?” Tony's voice was laced with disbelief. It had been two days now that the doubt lingered still in the other Avengers' attitude, and he knew JARVIS was sentient enough to have, at times, very distinctive opinions from his master's, and was not ashamed to say so.

“I think so, Sir. I do not believe your lover would harm you in this way.”

“...You don’t?” Tony repeated, and was that his voice cracking a little there?

“Mr. Loki has shown sentiments for you that one would not expect outside of a serious relationship, Sir,” JARVIS said patiently. “As you have, for him.”

And he had, hadn't he? This was more than friendship and sex, and he should face it by now. The sex was good, but it didn't deserve the commitment he had shown to Loki in the last few months. His kisses were sweet, but they no longer held the novelty that usually had him going back to a partner a second or a third time. His smile was cute, but didn't hold the challenge it used to, the need to impress him that usually kept him talking.

Oh, he had it bad. And Loki didn't know, did he?

“You sure he feels the same as I do, J’?” He whispered, toying with a twisted wire.

“I am quite certain he does, Sir,” the AI replied, ever polite and calm. “But perhaps, if I may suggest, it might do good for the two of you to have a serious talk about those sentiments once he is home and safe, Sir. I fear he might be as uncertain of your feelings for him as you are of his.”

“...You think he... What, he's scared I don't like him?” Tony asked, a little lost.

“Mr. Loki does a good job of not putting anyone's love for him to the test, Sir, and certainly not yours. I believe he enjoys what he has, though I do not understand the working of the human - or Jötun - heart enough to further analyse what I do know of his behaviour at the moment. I might take to studying it once I am not working on breaking flawless virtual security, Sir, if you like.”

“Yeah, uh- no, don't, don't do that. I think... I think I'll have that talk with him. Myself.”

Even as he said it, he felt his heartbeat's rhythm increasing. Even with Loki out of reach, even with the danger that lay between them both, Tony felt himself tensing at the thought of having a - a sincere talk about their feelings. It sounded like more dangerous than Doom.

Doom. Dangerous. Yeah. He took the distraction almost willingly. It did push that particular worry back.

“Okay, yeah. What you were saying about the alien helping Doom - any hint of what or who? It can't be Thanos, we'd know. Asgardian, you think? Gimme something to work with to be useful, J'.”

There was a pause that made him wonder for an instant if there was a failure in the communication, and then-

“I have the precise location of Loki, Sir. Sending the coordinates to Mark XVII immediately.”

********** 

“So? What, he didn't give up yet?”

“I believe he tried, but... You claimed he cannot lie? Well, it's what must have happened. It would seem he is not yet entirely convinced himself.”

There was a scream of rage coming from the old Asgardian. Loki's shoulders tensed up with fear, sending agony through his entire, so, so slowly healing body, unable to endure the warmth of the room. A small whimper parted his lips as he heard something breaking.

“How?! How is that possible?! He's a coward, he's always a coward, and he's smart enough to save his stupid life! You're not trying enough, Victor!”

“You told me not to kill him or go faster than he can heal.”

“I'm allowing you to study him! Can't you make an effort and make it painful?!”

“Perhaps your kind has a higher pain tolerance, Loki, but do not insult me. The pain I can bring was enough to make human hearts stop beating rather than bear it-”

“He's a weakling! He's useless, he's a runt, he's easy to damage! So why aren't you _doing it?_! Is he still begging for Thor?! How stupid can-”

“He's not.”

“You cannot even bring him to beg-?!”

“Not your brother. He calls for another.”

“...W-what? Who?”

Their voices lowered as the King seemed too surprised to keep yelling. Loki had had trouble understanding much of what he heard so far, but he now failed to even follow the talk, heard his future self's pacing as he walked around the stone ground of his torture chamber, sipping on another drink, loudly, through the straw.

The blood he had lost, drying (cooking, perhaps) slowly on his burning skin, felt like even it was sticky and less liquid than it should be. His tongue felt dry, his mouth pasty, begging for a drop of water; his lips had cracked and tasted like metal and melted ice.

Oh, if only his magic was not cursed; if only he could promise, promise whatever it took to be given relief...

(I won't kill Thor. I won't become _him_. It can still change. I can still change. I can be something else than him.)

( _Can you?)_

(Thor doesn't believe so.)

(But Tony. Tony does.)

(Tony believes I can be good. He wouldn't love me otherwise.)

(Tony.)

(Love?)

(Tony, please.)

(Tony, get me out. I'll make you proud. I'll be good. Please help me. Help me. Help me.)

“Help me.”

“Please.”

“Tony.”

He whispered so low it didn't reach his own ears, and thus he startled and whimpered when he felt a cruel hand closing around his jaw, long black nails digging in his flesh with fury.

“How _pathetic_ are you, boy? You believe you can have _them?_ You believe the heroes will care for you when even your brother won’t?” The voice was angry, disappointed, disbelieving, like that of a parent incapable of understanding how his own child could be so stupid.

“They're not coming. They are not. You think Iron Man will be there to save you? Did Thor make him promise, too, like he forced the Warriors Three to keep you safe? He's not coming. Nobody cares about you. How can you not see it yet?! I'm the only one who'll help you! The only one! You'll never have no one, no one but yourself! Heroes don't care for people like us! He is _not coming!_ ”

He snapped the last words, shaking him roughly, making him dizzy.

(Don't you know there's more than a promise this time? Don't you know he cares? Don't you know why I believe it?)

(I'm not you. I'm not _you_. I have another story.)

(He's coming. He has to be coming.)

(You're wrong. You lose.)

“I'll be better than you,” he said, voice breaking and croaking without glory. It was no silvertongue speech, no acidic wit. It was a quiet statement. He held his eyes shut tightly, and promised himself he was speaking the truth even as the King Loki slapped him with an impatient curse.

(My story's different from yours already. I'm not going to give up like you did.)

(He's coming.)

“Loki, my castle is under attack! You told me I wouldn't have to worry about it! Loki!”

But the King didn't answer Doom, hissing with rage as he wrapped his fingers around his younger self's throat.

“No, you won't,” he hissed. “You won't! You're going to be me!” He shouted, and Loki struggled to breathe as he heard Doom running out, barely registering the noise of the door opening, trying as he did to focus on his promise to himself.

********** 

“...So, I guess stealth is not the plan anymore, yes?” Pietro looked down at the Doombot that lay at his feet, a smoking hole in his chest, looking vaguely disgusted.

“I guess it's not,” Steve admitted grimly, taking back his shield from where it had dug deeply in the robot's neck just as Tony's repulsor had destroyed it. They had reacted quickly; not quickly enough, though, to keep the bot from warning its master about intruders in the castle through the mic in its system. There was no blaring alarm, nor army of robots coming their ways, but they had all fought long enough not to take hope from that single fact.

“Well, fantastic. We'll be going faster that way,” Tony muttered, aiming a blast to the lock of the door Pietro had been trying to open when the bot had surprised them. The door opened without further resistance.

“Fury will absolutely love this,” Natasha murmured as she walked in first, guns at the ready in each hand as she opened the way, pausing as the hall went in two directions. “Which way?”

“To the right and down the stairs,” Tony relayed JARVIS's answer. “Two bots at the door, one inside with Loki and one other person.”

“It could be Doom himself,” Wanda remarked, eyes and hands glowing red as she headed forward. “If he's having the room guarded, he might be speaking with your friend in person.”

Tony did not reply, in part because it was something he didn't want to think about. He walked closely behind Natasha and looked impatiently at each stupid security they were passing by, glaring at the decoration. Even _he_ did not have such narcissistic tastes.

He guided them through the hallways as fast as he could manage; not fast enough, though. JARVIS informed them as soon as Doom seemed to leave his prisoner alone with the mysterious third person, ordering his bots to destroy the intruders. Steve and Bucky exchanged a sinister look, but Tony did not bother to worry. JARVIS had advised that they turned one of the chambers into an infirmary before they left, in prevision of Loki's return. At the moment, Tony had every intentions of leaving Doom nothing but a pile of scrap metal.

“Keep moving forward,” he ordered drily to the rest of the team. “Kill those who get in your way, but our priority is Loki.”

“This is all such a bad idea,” Steve murmured, and yet he lunged forward first to shove his shield into a bot's face as it appeared from the superior level. “I'll hold them back far as I can. You guys hurry.”

Tony did just that. Bots were appearing from every doors, grabbing guns or powering up the laser guns of their gauntlets; the narrow hallways of the sinister castle were quick to turn into a dangerous battlefield, bullets and energy blasts bouncing off the walls and forcing them to dance around the robots to avoid their fire.

Wanda's magic dismantled their metallic bodies to pieces, while her twin sprinted around the hallways, making the bots fire at each other. Natasha and Bucky's bullets would have been of little use against the strong steel bodies, but both had switched their regular guns for tasers perfected by Tony after their last encounter with Doom. It seemed to be working very well so far. As for Steve, he did what he did best, punching, kicking and bashing the metallic creatures' faces in or reverting their lasers to their own face with his shield.

Tony went for simple, brutal and effective. His armor was stronger than theirs. He melted their faces off and ripped the electronic components that served as their brains out of their mask.

Thor's thunder would have been of use. But then again, if Thor had been there, they wouldn't have been in this situation, would they?

“Fuck! Stupid thing - that one's the real one, shit!” Pietro's cursing got their attention, turning around to see the speedster holding to his shoulder with his teeth gritted. He had made an attempt to rip the closest bot's mask, it seemed, and had in part succeeded, revealing burnt flesh under the torn metal before he had been wounded. Teeth gritted, he was a dozen meters away in an instant, to Wanda's side.

“Leave my castle, Avengers,” Doom ordered drily. “You have no right to be here.”

“Give us Loki, we'll be on our way,” Steve replied just as coldly before Tony could.

There was a silence, pierced by their own shallow breathing as they held their weapons pointed at the robots that had paused, seemingly waiting for their masters' further order.

“Leave now,” the dictator repeated, his one visible eye narrowed in threat. “And I will refrain from killing you all for this offense.”

“Nice try, dickhead.” Bucky, this time, whom appeared greatly unimpressed, and as threatening as ever in his new uniform. “Give up the god and the castle might still be standing when we leave.”

“The god's freedom is not mine to give away,” Doom scoffed. “I will say this one last time, Avengers-”

Whatever he was planning to say one last time did not get past his ravaged lips; Tony's repulsors sent him flying back into the wall. The bots immediately replied to the attack, explosions of gunshots and energy blasts shaking the stone hallway.

“Go get Loki!” Wanda shouted, roughly shoving her brother safely behind her back as she created a bubble of red light that melted the bots that had gotten too close to them both. “Hurry up, Stark!”

Nodding sharply to thank her, Tony sent a last glare to Doom, unconscious against the ground, and quickly hurried down the stairs, shoving bots out of his way. The door was not even locked, but it went like every other ones, blasted against the wall.

The room was surprisingly warm, and his first ridiculous thought was that he had accidentally walked into Doom's sauna instead of his torture chamber. It was just as that very thought reached his brain that he understood the why of the temperature, and it took no more to make his own blood boil.

He took a step forward, and then stood once more where he stood when he caught sight of a frozen figure, standing there gaping with green eyes filled by confusion.

“...Loki?”

What... How? He stared in shock at the man - the _man_ in front of him. Because, right, this was Loki, but this was Loki as an adult, tall and thin like he had been when they had first met, like the man who had shoved him out of a window and who had died protecting Thor in Svartalfheim. He stood there with his full dark armor, with long golden horns and pale skin scarred by age and pain. And there was no recognition or love or smile in those green eyes Tony had learned to read from looking into them so often.

“Loki... W-what happened to you?” He questioned uncertainly, the faceplate of his helmet opening. “What did Doom do?”

The man stood frozen still, shaking his head in growing disbelief, scarred lips moving as if to speak words he had not yet managed to create in his mind. And then, as Tony was taking a step forward to try to understand what had happened to his lover, he heard it.

The most pathetic, broken whimpering sound.

“ _Tony..._ ”

And here he was, behind the still motionless older Loki whose presence he couldn't bring himself to question now: tied up there with his arms shaking above his head, expanses of pale skin turned raw and red and burned; clothes sliced open or discarded to the ground, flesh knitting itself back together from multiple long cuts, as though he had been open like a beast at the slaughterhouse; and worse than all, his worn out, bruised features looking at him as if unsure he was truly there, and not bothering to hide his despair.

That was the thing about Loki, _his_ Loki, the cute little smirking Trickster that he had grown accustomed to seeing sleeping in his arms. His Loki was always proud. Always holding to his honor, in the most foolish of things. It was hilarious at times, heartbreaking in others; like when he stubbed his little toe and his eyes were filled with tears and he still grinned and very seriously affirmed it was _nothing._ Like when he came home from Asgard that one time, and Tony heard him throwing up the whole night through, pale with an infection he had caught in his mission, and in the morning had claimed he had slept well and felt great.

It was in his stubbornness too; how he would refuse to fail, refuse to be beaten or embarrassed in his petty little arguments with Clint or in his redemption against unimpressed Aesirs. He laughed at himself, but it was always in useless facts that didn't shame him; he simply stood proud and solid, trying so hard not to be vulnerable.

To Tony, it made it twice as good, to know that he was perhaps one of the only beings who ever got to see him giving up all those pretenses and masks of his, when he would give in entirely to him, laugh until he cried or moan in his arms or take wordless comfort from his kisses when he refused to admit he was in pain.

But when he heard the miserable, strangled whimper that came from behind the adult Loki's shoulder, it fueled his rage anew.

Somehow, it was what felt so revolting, so inappropriate and almost blasphemous. To force that pride away against his Loki's will, to somehow have broken through that dignity - it was _wrong_.

“Loki, shit,” he heard himself saying, cursing and disassembling the suit to quickly get out of it, walking past the adult Loki to go directly to _his._ “Fuck -you hear me, Lock? You hold still, I'll get you home.”

“Tony,” the small god repeated as his eyes focused uncertainly on his face. His lips were bloodied and dry. Tony cursed, wishing he had water with him.

“Yeah, I'm here, Loki,” he promised, taking one of his hands in his as he glanced at his bonds, then made a quick gesture that brought his gauntlet back to his other arm. “It's alright, okay? You'll be alright, don't worry. I'm taking care of all this shit now, you just hold on and I'll bring you home, Snow-White. The others are dealing with Doom, we'll be home and safe in no time.”

His shirt already felt soaked through with sweat as he babbled and glanced rapidly at his gauntlet, picking the setting that would better cut through the chains at Loki's wrists. The temperature was a torture all on its own, its effects clear on Loki after the few too long days of his disappearance; his face was gaunt, deep dark circles surrounding his sunken, feverish eyes.

He was feeling uncomfortable already, he who was a human. Loki... was not.

He should have been here way sooner.

“Tony,” the younger god croaked again, trying to straighten up, now, agitated.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Lock,” he tried to comfort him, stroking his wrist, chafed and raw from the manacle, as he tried to figure out how to break it without harming him in the process. “I know. Just hold on, it won't be long, just-”

“Tony!” Loki insisted, and this time, Tony caught his panicked eyes.

Just in time to avoid a knife that was aimed right for his head.

Just in time to let the weapon lodge itself in Loki's shoulder, tearing a scream from his lips and making Tony want to puke when he turned around to see the older god, pale with rage, fingers lingering over more knives at his belt.

“Leave him alone,” the man spat furiously and okay, what the fuck? Loki's older, evil uncle who looked ridiculously like him? An angry shapeshifter?

“...No? What the fuck - no, not happening, dude. Back off, I'm serious,” he said, quickly calling his armor to him.

The metallic pieces flying past him rapidly seemed to startle Old-Not-Loki, but not enough to tame his clear, unexplainable anger. A scepter appeared in his hand, and Tony acted before he thought.

Not-Loki went flying across the room, fully powered repulsor burning through his armor enough to tear a cry from his lips before his head hit the wall, making him silent.

“Okay, let's get the fuck out,” Tony told himself, voice shaking a little as he tried to be useful despite his own shock and growing confusion. “Just stay still.”

Loki nodded weakly and clearly did his best to do just that, panting, trembling still with the knife still in his shoulder. Tony didn't dare remove it now; he would ask Natasha, she would know what to do. The shackles broke easily enough with a carefully manipulated laser, as he threw regular looks over his shoulder to make sure that the other one was not getting up already.

Loki's full weight fell on him when the chain broke; he stammered what sounded like perhaps it could be an apology, but moaned and fell mostly quiet as Tony lifted him in his arms, an awkward process as Loki was a little taller than he was. Rapidly, he headed out of the room, taking an instant of pause at the door when the temperature abruptly changed from Hell to the regular atmosphere.

He walked quickly, trying to keep his pace steady and not to cause any further harm to the young god. In the hallway, the fighting seemed to have mostly stopped. Tony still had to awkwardly turn around to protect Loki while firing small missiles at two Doombots, then quickly stepped over their remains - something that was getting harder with how much there were now.

“You got your boyfriend?” Natasha called, loud enough to be heard over her gunshots as she kept the robots hiding behind a metal door.

“We need to bring him home quickly,” Tony confirmed, not denying the title.

Loki, if he heard, didn't seem to mind. Then again, he had closed his eyes tightly by now and was clinging hard to Tony, shivering from the change of temperature.

“Then let's just do that,” Bucky growled. “Pietro?” He tossed his gun at the speedster, hiding still behind his sister and holding his shoulder. “Clear the way. We're behind you.”

The enhanced boy didn't hesitate much, nodding and quickly disappearing to the end of the hallway. Gunshots were heard; Wanda didn't wait for any of their command to go after her brother, and nobody dwelled to speak much, hurrying away from the battle scene, Natasha at the back, shooting any Doombot that tried to go after them.

The feel of the wind outside made even Tony gasp in relief; he disassembled, not because he enjoyed the feeling of vulnerability of walking around without his armor in enemy territory, but because he felt Loki trying to move away from the hard metal of the suit, most likely not a comforting touch against his aching skin. Tony gathered up the torn clothes of the young god as he held him a little closer, grateful to feel him leaning in the touch.

“We're going home, Loki,” he promised, kissing Loki's forehead in a gesture he wasn’t sure was meant to comfort him or the god. “Hold on, okay? We're going home.”

“Quinjet's coming,” Steve stated.

It was indeed, the plane a dark dot in the sky; Tony would have wanted it closer, instead of waiting here, keeping a nervous eye on the castle's doors, but landing it anywhere in the city would have meant its immediate destruction by the Latverian army. He waited anxiously, breathing in and out, wanting nothing other than to bring Loki to safety. His skin felt so warm and dry against his, his eyelids so heavy despite his regular, slow blinking...

“Tony,” Loki whispered, fingers tangling in his shirt. “Knew... you'd come. He didn't believe... Doesn't... He's not me... You never liked... N-never liked him... Not me.”

“What is he saying?” Wanda questioned, frowning.

“Heat exposure makes one delirious,” Natasha stated. “The AC in the plane will help. Drink and rest will have to do for the rest until we're back to the base.”

“Tony,” Loki pleaded again, voice breaking. “G... Gonna be g-good now. Not... Not him...”

“It's fine, Lock, I -I'm here, yeah. I came, just like you knew I would, and you'll be fine, yes, so - you just hang in there and breathe, yeah?”

Tony wasn't good at caring for things, let alone people, and the state of distress and confusion of Loki, combined with his senseless words, made him more nervous than ever.

At last, the Quinjet was landing; Steve rushed inside to the pilot's seat, opening the back of the plane to let them in. Tony, shoulders falling with relief, was just stepping inside when he heard Natasha shouting a warning; he had no time to ask her what was happening before something heavy made him lose his footing and fall to the ground, tearing a cry from Loki's lips. Tony swore, trying to pull himself back to his feet before a brutal kick sent him flying back a few meters brutally, his back connecting with something hard.

“Fuck,” he swore again, trying to force some air into his lungs to order to Steve to grab Loki and put him in the jet before something could happen to him.

He then figured he might have more reasons to worry about himself, when he managed to look up to see the old Loki copycat glaring down at him, walking toward him in that predatory way that had once threatened to send him crashing on Manhattan's sidewalk.

“You do not like him!” The man shouted, sounding absolutely enraged. “NOBODY likes him!”

Jesus, something was going on here that he was seriously not understanding.

“Calm the fuck down, you,” Tony mumbled, straining to get himself back to sitting at least, still out of breath. “Loki's coming back home with me, you hear? You'll have to accept that, because if you stand in the way-”

“YOU DO NOT LIKE HIM! You're not _allowed_ to like him, human! Do you hear me?! Nobody likes him! I will not allow him to have this ridiculous - this - this farce of a happy ending! Not when I never had one! He doesn't _deserve_ it!”

“What the hell - ugh,” Tony winced as he was suddenly pulled up from the ground, an uncomfortably strong hand clenching around his neck, just to remind him that he was very much mortal and very fragile without his armor. It was standing uselessly a few meters away, and he couldn't reach to call it. “Guys! A l-little help?” He choked out, trying to dig his nails into not-Loki's hands.

“You'll die for thinking he could be anything but me,” the Asgardian taunted, green eyes sparkling with fury and rage, and if his squeezing harder was any hint, he had every plan of making good of that prophecy right now and fuck, was that a bullet from Natasha's gun that had just bounced off not-Loki's back doing no damage at all? That didn't look good and he was starting to feel his chest burning and dark spots dancing in front of his eyes and he really didn't want to die here in Latveria today there were still many many things he wanted to do before that-

And like that, he fell back to the ground, crumbling in a coughing and wheezing pile of Tony.

“Th-thanks guys- ugh,” he panted, rubbing at his aching neck.

“How dare you touch me, you insect?! I am doing this for you! I will not let you- argh!”

Tony had no time to process the words. Suddenly, there was a weak, warm hand clinging to his wrist, and he felt as though the ground disappeared from under him.

********** 

“Who _is_ that guy?”

“It... looks like Loki. Before. Fuck - somebody help Stark!”

“I can't shoot him! It's bouncing off - Wanda, can you-?”

“Loki, stay still - just come here, you need to lie down, Tony's coming - Loki!”

“How dare you touch me, you insect?! I am doing this for you! I will not let you - argh!”

“Holdon,” Loki rasped, but Tony didn't hear, or perhaps he had no voice anymore. Limbs trembling, eyes unfocused, energy flickering from the running and the use of a clone, he teleported them both, with nothing but safety in mind.

 

********** 

“What the fuck?!”

Tony realised, distantly, that those were words he had spoken way too many times today. When this entire thing was over and he was back at the Tower, comfy and warm and with the Avengers around and Loki by his side, he was seriously taking vacations. Serious vacations to be taken seriously, in which he would refuse to save the world from any life-threatening situation until he was perfectly well-rested.

Which led to the question - where the hell was he, and how would he get back to the Tower?

It had felt pleasantly fresh to be outside after visiting Doom's oven of a torture chamber, but he had not quite asked for anything _that_ fresh. Then again, he supposed Loki was to blame for bringing them somewhere as cold as he probably felt he needed.

Only, Tony now stood there, without his armor, without anything but his jeans and shirt, thigh-deep in snow and barely holding himself straight on his feet against the cruel bite of the wind, and where the fuck had that come from? Trees were only just losing their leaves in New York! Then again, he realised as he quickly looked around, this obviously wasn't New York, or Latveria, or Sokovia. No, it was all he could do to reassure himself that he probably wasn't on a freaking iceberg. Despite standing on a ground of ice and snow, and seeing a cliff not that far away, and blue water filled with broken slates of ice in the distance.

Tony looked down at the pale body in his arms, and realised that Loki had passed out while bringing them here - because it was obvious that it was the young god's magic that had transported them, something Tony didn't want to consider because it was the sort of idea that made him angry with just how plain disrespectful magic was to Lady Science. Only, if Loki had somehow decided that he wanted some fresh air and had brought them away from Earth and to someplace in the frozen realm he apparently was from...

He shuddered, not only from the cold. Overthinking things would not help, he told himself. Praying that he was still on good old Earth or that the Avengers were totally fine, stuck with that guy who was apparently the ghost of the Loki who had attacked New York years ago, would not help. For now, he was better doing what he _could_ help with.

He hoisted Loki's unconscious form on his shoulder in a fireman's lift, and after a quick inspection of their surroundings, he started walking toward a dark form in the distance, trying to make quick work of moving against wind and snow before his limbs could freeze, in a hurry to find a shelter.

His guess had been a lucky one; the dark form turned out to be a small house, and Tony forced himself to walk faster once he was sure of it, his toes already turning numb as his shoes were soaked through with melted snow. All around him, only snow and wind moved, and the absolute silence of Loki did nothing to comfort him.

The door to the small cabin was locked; he could see no car or, like, dog sleighs anywhere around, and so he grabbed an abandoned shovel near the door and set to breaking the lock. He was sure he had read something somewhere about how it was not illegal to break into a house if you were trying to save a life. He was pretty sure it was what he was doing now - he had lawyers for that anyway, and it was hardly the most worrisome thing happening now; walking into the house and locking the cold wind outside was a relief all on its own.

The house was small and nowhere as luxurious as Tony was used to, but it was a comfortable thing, inhabited, it seemed, by at least a man and a woman, if he were to judge by the coats and boots in the hall. Stairs led to a second floor; Tony explored the first one long enough to find a modest kitchen, a bathroom with a window made of colorful glass, letting the sun in like a work of art, and a living room that seemed to double as an office. He helped his unconscious, half-naked burden onto the couch, and took a deep breath as he fell to his side.

“Okay. I can do this,” he whispered, allowing himself two long minutes to breathe in and out and repeat to himself that worrying now would not help anything, and that he was better doing what he could do for now.

Hey, the self-help anxiety book Loki had abandoned on the endtable of his bedroom was maybe actually helping.

He forced himself up and crouched next to Loki's slumped form. The young god was worryingly pale, more so than ever. The blood of his wounds had dried in the outside air, making it darker against his thin lips and barely muscled chest. But he was breathing, steadily. Somewhere outside, the knife had fallen out of his arm, or perhaps Natasha had had the time to remove it. The wound looked too deep to Tony's eyes, but he knew he couldn't judge such a thing by himself for now, and told himself it probably wasn't that bad. It hadn't been aimed at him after all, right?

Reassured that the god's heart was beating, he tried to judge of his temperature. Loki's skin had lost most of its redness by now, but, in some mysterious way, it was not icy like Tony's felt after their walk in the snow. He still felt abnormally warm.

What had Natasha advised? Water and rest? Well, the god was resting alright. Tony doubted he could make him drink in his sleep. And the house's temperature had to be lower than normal - surely he would cool down all on his own until he woke, right? And until then, Tony could - could go on to the next step his brain had programmed, right. One thing at a time. No panicking.

The computer wasn't protected by a password, something he was grateful for; less reassuring was the desktop, on which dozens of files held absolutely incomprehensible names in a language he couldn't identify. He quickly opened the first browser he located, and set to figuring out where the fuck Loki had brought them.

He had his answer ten minutes later. He was not overly pleased about it.

Apparently, they had taken shelter in a small house, located somewhere between the charming towns of Arsuk (population: 171) and Kangilinnguit (population: 60), in the community of Sermersooq, home to Greenland's (population: 56 000) capital.

So. They were in the middle of absolutely no fucking where.

But, hey. At least, Loki was alive. And the rescue had really been needed; the Avengers would have to admit it now.

He needed a while and a lot of effort to remember his codes of access to the messenger system of Stark Industries, unused to contacting anyone without going through JARVIS. He sent his coordinates to the Avengers with a brief message to say he would keep an eye on Loki while they came to get them, thanks very much, and sorry for leaving them with the psycho; it would have to do, far as communications went.

Not daring to turn the heat up when Loki still looked so warm, he went in search of dry, warmer clothes for himself. The master of the house apparently had a pronounced love for brown velvet pants, but he eventually found sweatpants that were just a bit too loose on him. He found their pharmacy, but elected to be careful and simply found a soft towel to soak in cold water.

He got Loki out of the remains of his clothes, sincerely hoping the inhabitants would not come home anytime soon, and pressed the towel to his forehead while washing and dressing his wounds, wincing repeatedly and feeling that same mix of rage and sadness as earlier burning in his stomach, now that he had the time to look at the damage.

Loki's temperature was what had worried him the most, but the alarming warmth was slowly decreasing from highly feverish to what would be considered a norm to humans, making Tony deduce he still needed to lose two or three degrees before he was fine, if the cold skin he was used to was any indication. He made it his duty to regularly go freshen up the towel, wishing that the Greenlandic people had had the common sense of getting AC in their house.

Next came the deep cuts, like he had earlier noticed, slicing Loki's chest from neck to navel, scarred like it had been opened again and again as the Jötun's magic tried to heal it. They were colored by dark bruising in several places, leaving no doubt to the brutality Doom had most likely used while he studied the boy, and Loki startled Tony half to death when he gave out a cry of pain and struggled a little while he was carefully washing the wounds. Green eyes had filled with fear and confusion as the boy had looked up.

“Hey, hey, it's fine,” Tony had stammered hurriedly. “Loki? You're safe, you're fine, it's just me, it's just Tony!” He had insisted as the boy shook his head, moaning in pain.

His efforts had been fruitless, Loki seemingly not recognising him, nor understanding that Tony was disinfecting the injuries for his own good. He stuttered the same sort of nonsense as earlier, going on with glassy eyes that it wasn't him, that he was good, that Tony was coming, until his eyelids seemed too heavy to hold open, and he fell back against the cushions, skin covered with sweat.

Tony wished he had taken the time to ensure that stupid Doom was dead for good.

He had worked quickly from there, washing and dressing the wounds in hope that Loki would wake up more peacefully the next time, and feeling horrible for being reassured by the fact that he had woken up at all. Apart from the ugly cuts came the problem of the first, second and even a few third-degree burns that covered Loki's limbs.

The most of it remained in the form of dry, red skin, on his face and stomach. What truly worried Tony were states his arms, legs, back and hands were. He tried hard not to wonder how Doom and Evil Loki had managed this, moving to ask Google, in the absence of JARVIS, how to take care of those. He elected to wait until the boy was up to make him get into a bath, and, for now, was grateful to find aloe gel in the bathroom, to spread onto the red blisters with all the care in the world.

Loki lay peaceful now, resting, at a steady 101.5°F, features relaxed in his sleep. Occasionally, he would shift or turn around and then wince in pain as it brought pain to his skin; but Tony watched and figured he had done the very best he could.

Hopefully, it would do for now.

He walked around the house a little aimlessly after that, simply trying to deduce whose house they had crashed and whose clothes he had stolen, in case they turned out to be aggressive body-builders who liked to eat baby seals for breakfast. He ended up finding pictures near the entrance of the kitchen, of what seemed to be a happy young couple with vaguely Asian-ish features, posing outside of a Canadian university.

The woman was grinning in absolute pride, holding a diploma like it was the most precious thing in the world; her lover held an arm around her shoulders and smiled at her like _she_ was.

They looked cute. Happy. Unashamed.

He smiled at the sight, shaking his head before going to explore the fridge.

He had no idea what Loki would be able to eat exactly, or if he should even eat. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened to him, but he somehow doubted that Doom had fed him at all, and he had once heard Rogers saying that you couldn't eat too much too quickly after starving for a while. In doubt, Tony set to making chicken soup (because if you couldn't rely on chicken soup, you couldn't rely on anything, could you?).

When even that was done, and there was truly nothing else he could do, he sat down on the ground next to Loki's head, reached up to take the god's hand in his, and kissed its knuckles softly.

And he waited.

********** 

 

He woke feeling... uncomfortable. But it was a vague, unpleasant sort of sensation that made him want to get a shower and a night in a soft, fresh bed - and possibly twelve glasses of water. It was not maddening pain or dizziness and nausea.

Slowly, he looked around, his brain slowly processing his surrounding and trying to make some sort of sense out of it, and of his blurred memories. The house was unfamiliar; his eyes trailed in confusion over the wood walls and the large windows, allowing a bright sun into the small living room, where it reflected on a small TV and a none-too-recent computer.

And finally, he caught sight of Tony, just next to him, his head resting against his bed... couch's side, eyes shut.

Loki's breath caught in his throat, blinking a few times in realisation.

_You really came for me._

“Hey,” he whispered.

At least, he had meant to whisper. What came out was a strangled little sound, dry enough to make him cough brutally. Discomfort turned back to a sudden stab of pain that made him feel like his skin and flesh were torn apart by an incompetent butcher.

“Shit! Loki, fuck, you okay?”

The panicked voice surprised him, but quickly managed to force him still, waiting for the pain to recede to look up again. Tony's features were concerned. He managed to crack a smile, however apologetic it felt.

“W-water?” He requested in a breath. “P-please?”

Tony seemed startled, before he abruptly disappeared from his line of sight. He reappeared holding a glass of water with a straw in it, covered in condensation. He had no time to wonder at why the sight churned at his stomach; already, the human was crouching back next to him, helping the straw to his dried lips. He didn't need more prompting to drink rapidly, too relieved to be embarrassed of feeling a bit of the liquid escaping down his chin.

“There, slowly, that's good, Lock,” he heard the human whispering, and there was suddenly a gentle hand stroking his hair out of his face. “Slowly.”

He tried to obey, but still emptied the glass within a minute, way too early for his own taste. He coughed, feeling his tongue and lips breaking into small cuts again, and still sighed, pleased.

“Ah, you rarely ever sucked with that much enthusiasm, babe.”

It was a poor joke, poorly timed. It still made him smile. Because it was so Tony, the humor at the worst of times. He found the human's hand in his again and held to it, taking a few deep breaths.

“You came for me,” he whispered, eyes shut. “I so hoped you would.”

“It took me way too long,” Tony replied, with that edge of impatience in his voice that Loki had learned to associate with the man's need to make it clear that failures did not happen to Tony Stark twice. “I should have been there way sooner, Doom's tech progressed more than expected. I'll fix that shit, make sure he can't pull that sort of trick again.”

“And still,” Loki whispered, too tired to argue, keeping one half-open eye on Tony. “You saved me.”

Those were words he realised should have harmed his pride. Real warriors didn't need rescue. Thor didn't need rescue. Admitting that he had needed it was a disgrace. Loki didn't care. He wasn't Thor. He wasn't worthy in his brother's way. It didn't matter.

He was Loki, and that was good enough, wasn't it? He was not evil.

“Yeah, well. You did do a bit of the saving yourself,” Tony replied, his tone light, even if he kept looking at him somewhat nervously, as if expecting him to start coughing blood any time soon. “Have any memory of that at all? Because if it was a real conscious thing, next time, maybe, refrain from the Viking instinct and avoid Greenland?”

“...Greenland?”

“Yeah. You teleported us some four thousand kilometers, Bambi. Which, you know, nice, because evil you wanted us dead, but...”

He trailed off, and Loki lowered his eyes to avoid his. Evil him... It was not a wrong term.

Evil Loki. Not Future Loki. Just an alternative, not a set destiny.

“So you fought him?”

“I tried. Admittedly, it didn't do that much good,” Tony replied with a brief laugh. “He's, ah, tough. So, uh, you know where he's from? Or, you know, if he'll come by again? He did mention something about being jealous because he didn't get a happy ending, so... Did someone bring past you back to life?”

“He came here himself,” Loki corrected quietly, shaking his head. “Travelled thousands of years to the past to change his life before it happened.”

“...He came back from the future, then. To make you evil again.” Tony's tone was sour. Loki actually managed to smile at that. His human was cute, when he was angry at magic.

“He tried to be good, I believe, in his past. The way I do. It did not work the way he hoped, and he lost his mind. He wanted me to use what small trust I have from Thor to kill him now, before he becomes more powerful than he is today.”

“...Speaking of Thor...” The tone was careful.

“May I have more water, please?”

Tony didn't insist. “Sure, don't move,” he asked, moving away from the couch to fill the glass again.

Loki curled up a little tighter on himself while he waited, past the point of truly being embarrassed of his body in front of his lover, but uncomfortable with the sight of the wounds that were all too obvious on his skin, healing too slowly. Tony had seen them, of course, making it too late to hide them from his eyes, but Loki wished he still could have made them disappear while the human was away.

He wished he could hide away any reminder of what had just happened from Tony, end forever the discussion of what had just happened. His first wave of relief and disbelieving joy at the fact that Tony had come back for him was slowly being washed away by returning doubts. Acknowledging what had just happened meant speaking of it, considering things.

Meant, perhaps, asking too much questions. Tony was a hero. He saved people, it was his job. And if Loki took it as more than that, and dared ask for more, then perhaps the human would step back, and he would lose what they had. Perhaps he already wanted to get some distance, realising that Loki had called for him for help.

(Perhaps he doesn't like you at all, something whispered, in the back of his mind, a voice that he could imagine forming light and mocking words, scarred lips wrapped around a straw.)

“The team should be on their way,” Tony said as he reappeared with the filled glass. “I mean, they probably dealt with the bad guy after we disappeared, but hopefully, it shouldn't have taken all that much time.”

“I apologise for bringing the two of us away,” Loki replied quietly, drinking as Stark held the glass for him, an embarrassing stance he was grateful for. His throat felt dry from speaking so, and he doubted he had the strength in his arm to hold the glass at the moment. “How long was I in their custody?”

“Little less than a week. Again, I'm... really sorry for that,” Tony said, looking away.

“It's fine,” Loki hurried to answer. “I appreciate your help.”

There was a silence that he wouldn't dare call comfortable, while he sipped the water, more slowly this time, enjoying its soothing effect on his aching throat. Tony looked agitated, fingers twitching a little around the glass.

Loki, perhaps, would be better off trying not to bother the human for a while after this, not requesting his embrace or his shared nights until he did, after asking so much of his attention in this less than pleasant way. It might be the most careful course of action, if he wanted those nights to happen at all...

“Look, Lock. I know you won't want me asking this,” the billionaire suddenly blurted out. “But when did you see that dick for the first time? Does he know where your apartment is? I get it, you don't want this talk now,” he added rapidly, “but I need to know. You're staying home until he's dead or locked up anyway, that's not up for discussion, but if he has evil buddies like Doom, then we need to get you a new, safer place quickly.”

“...I... I'm safe enough,” Loki replied after a few instants of surprised silence. “I'm good, Tony, thank you.”

“Good? That guy wanted to bash my skull in because I said I loved you, Loki, you need to be safe from that kind of...”

There was a pause, as if Tony couldn't figure out what insult would better fit the old Loki. The young one, though, was staring at him, his heart beating harshly enough in his chest that he was certain even the other man had to hear it.

And Tony, oh, Tony looked shaken, too, brown, wide eyes meeting startled green ones.

_I said I loved you?_

“I... I made chicken soup,” Tony said, suddenly, very not-smoothly. “My butler. My butler, he made, he made soup. When I was sick. It should, you should eat, it's light, it's a light thing to eat, for your stomach, to eat. So. You -you want some?”

“Y-yes. Yes, please,” came the equally stammered, clumsy answer.

“Good,” Tony replied, and he disappeared again, with the still half-full glass of water.

And Loki lay there, a shiver going down his spine, closing a fist against his heart to will its frantic beating to calm down.

Tony had faced the other Loki, and had told him he loved him?

(You made soup just for me? Just because I'm injured?)

The soup turned out to be quite good, soothing Loki's throat and filling his stomach without making him feel too nauseous, even if he was still embarrassingly weak, needing Tony's assistance to hold the bowl to his lips. The billionaire sat with him on the couch, now, taking small cues from his face to lift the receptacle or lower it when he asked. He was attentive but mercifully quiet, leaving their silence perhaps not comfortable, but not overly awkward either.

The bowl emptied, Loki felt sleepy, tempted to rest some more to allow his body to heal, but Tony seemed to have other plans.

“You need to take a bath, your temperature is still too high, considering what I guess is normal for you,” he stated as he looked at the thermometer he had had Loki hold under his tongue for a few seconds. “At least, every medical website I saw an hour ago advised you take one. You're feeling up to it?”

He didn't, honestly, but he figured it might indeed do some good to sit in cold water for a while.

“I can't say I don't want to take one,” he offered. “Though I might need some help getting to the bathroom. My apologies.”

“Ah, like hell I'm leaving you at any moment of the process. I don't want you drowning in a stranger's bathtub. That's a death I want to copyright.,” the human stated with a grin.

Loki did smile at that, and nodded to show he was mentally prepared. Tony carried him in his arms as if he were his bride, a process made twice as awkward by Loki being naked, and, he supposed, very conscious. (He had realised in an instant of surprise that Tony had, in fact, probably carried him for a while outside, if his drying clothes on the heater were any signs of it, and was kind of glad he had not been conscious in that particular moment). Add the pain of every touch against his skin to the equation, and he was more than grateful when they made it into the bathroom and Tony made him sit on the closed seat of the toilet.

“You alright, Lock?” The human asked, frowning, while he started to fill the tub.

“Still alive,” Loki promised with a smile, eyes shut.

Tony did not insist. His hands were gentle as he then started to unwrap Loki's bandages one by one. Loki, trying hard not to lean into the touch, wished they would have been home, that he could have requested anyone else doing it, a nameless medic from the Tower, so he wouldn't have to feel like a burden in the matter. Hell, he wished he had had the strength to pretend he could do this all by himself.

“Alright, Bambi,” Tony said softly, stroking his hair back. “This is going to be the unpleasant part, alright?”

“Yeah. It's fine,” Loki whispered, taking a deep breath as he rose to his feet a little unsteadily, and moved to the tub.

He probably should have gone in slowly, a little at the time, to take the pain of his burns coming in touch with the water a little at the time; instead, his legs gave way as soon as he started to sit, and it was all he could do not to fall immediately in the tub. Before he knew it, he was immersed in water up to the middle of his chest, and it-

 _hurt_.

He refrained from screaming, but it wasn't that much courage as it was that he couldn't bring enough air in his lungs to do so. Lips parted in a hiss, his entire skin feeling like it was set on fire all anew, like ten thousand needles were sinking in every inch of his skin, he closed his eyes tightly to keep tears at bay.

And to his side came a quick voice that was trying to be cheerful.

“Alright, it's going to feel better very soon, it's all good, here, look at me, Lock, it's all good.”

And he did look, did force his eyes to blink open, and was greeted with the sight of yet another glass of water offered to him, with a straw in it, and-

And all his careful control broke down, exhaustion and pain overcoming anything else as he tried to shove the damn thing away, the water splashing and hitting his neck and shoulders and _burning_ and-

And he hid his face in his hands, willing the world to disappear.

And cursing Asgard and honor and strength, he wept like a child over his own suffering.

 

********** 

Loki had started to close in on himself. Tony could see it happening second by second, and as things were, he was tempted to grab the god by his shoulders and shake him.

Part of him really was glad that he was not crying. Part of him really just wished Thor had been there, or the other Avengers, and they could have taken care of him and gotten him to speak of what had happened and make him feel right.

But he realised as time went by that even if they had been there, it would not have been an option.

Because he was the only one, he realised, who knew Loki enough, now, to see him closing off on himself like he did, and not take his smile as proof that his light mood was completely unbreakable.

Oh, surely Thor would have cared, he knew. Surely Thor would have been worried and insisted that Loki needed the rest and some medicine and sworn vengeance on his enemies. And surely Steve would have insisted to ask if he was alright, and baked him cookies or something. They were good guys, they would care.

But, Tony had understood more or less consciously in the last few months, that was all. They cared. They didn't realise his grin was protection more than it was amusement.

Loki would never admit he wasn't alright, not until he had no choice. It was just how he was, by nature as much as by habit. It extended to every part of him, even in the way he had acted on their first time, trying to pretend he was experienced and knew what he was doing and was not at all afraid, all until he had no choice to admit to the truth.

Tony was pretty sure he would have absolutely no idea of what to do if Loki admitted to how bad he was obviously feeling, but he knew also that he was growing more and more worried with every promise the Trickster made that he was so perfectly fine.

Bringing him to the bathroom was a trial all on its own, with the young god now fully conscious and in pain with each movement, and Tony was quite relieved when he made to move to the water all by himself, even if he winced with the look of pure agony on Loki's face when he did. He quickly went for the glass of water he had brought with them, hoping to distract his partner and make him feel good.

Clearly, not a success.

And, hey, here were those tears he had hoped not to see.

Now what?

Tony stood frozen for a few seconds, eyes travelling from the glass that was emptying itself on the carpet to Loki, shaking and physically closing up on himself, strangled sobs the only noise in the bathroom. Something in his own heart broke and he realised, suddenly, that this wasn't quite the same as the dreaded, impossible task of taking care of someone.

It was just the sad task of being there for someone he loved while they were crying their eyes out, traumatised and in pain and convinced they should do this alone, and wondering what he was supposed to do to bring them comfort.

Loki's entire body stiffened when he felt Tony's fingers on his skin. The billionaire waited for another outburst; when nothing came, he gently stroked the skin there, careful to mind the worst of the burns, and leaned forward until he was able to kiss Loki's hair, holding him in a half-hug, the best he could do with the boy still sitting in the tub.

“I ap-apologise,” came a choked out answer, after a few moments. “I'll b-be fine. You can go.”

His raspy voice still held a bit of the panic of earlier, a sign that the crisis was not over, that Loki just tried to make it a private thing. Tony shook his head and again kissed his scalp, a soft and delicate gesture.

“I'm staying with you, Lock. It's okay,” he whispered quietly.

“I'm fine,” Loki repeated, voice muffled by his hand over his mouth. “I'm fine, I promise. It's n-nothing.”

“It's not nothing,” Tony said, eyes shut, trying hard to make his words soothing. “It's not nothing and you don't have to say you're fine after all this happened to you. You've been tortured by one of the world's biggest jerks for a week, that's not something that you can or should just brush off.”

“Doom's hardly imaginative with t-torture,” Loki laughed, and Tony didn't have to look to picture him pulling his lips up into a smile. “I'm - I'm just warm, Tony. It makes no sense to further c-complain about it.”

“So I shouldn't have those nightmares about Afghanistan, should I? It was just a bit of water. I spat it out long ago.”

A silence followed, pierced by the Trickster's erratic breaths and the minor splashing of the water in the bath. Tony waited wordlessly, lips pressing quiet kisses to Loki's hair. Finally, he heard the young Jötun releasing his breath.

“I was so afraid you weren't coming,” he finally stammered, and his voice suddenly broke of all composure, unstable and young as Tony had never imagined it. “It wouldn't end and th-they wouldn't stop and he kept s-s-saying nobody would ever care and that I would end up being him no matt-matter what I did and that nobody expected otherwise and that he w-was doing it all for my own good, and... and it lasted and nobody was coming, Tony, and I - I was so afraid that I would, that he'd be r-right and I would become _him_ and nobody would be surp-surprised or care or wonder why, fuck...”

His sentence ended in the curse, and suddenly, Tony's shirt was wet and there was a young God of Mischief wrapped tightly around him, clinging to him with more strength than a human his size should have, wrecked sobs muffled in his neck.

Tony wrapped his arms around Loki in return, and kissed his temple again, stomach twisted by what he heard.

“I care, Lock,” he said quietly. “I care. And I should have been there days ago. You shouldn't have gone through that. I'm sorry,” he whispered, stroking trembling shoulders steadily.

“He said it di-didn't matter how much I tried,” Loki sniffled. “That I could lift Mjölnir and pe-people would just think it was a trick, that they'd never see me as better than - than a God of Lies.”

He sounded so young and hurt and tired then; Tony was pretty sure he hadn't shed an actual tear since his parents and Jarvis had died. Drying his cheek with one quick hand, he kissed Loki's temple again, making soothing sounds until his wrecked sobs turned to tired sniffles.

“I see you as more than that,” he promised quietly. “And I don't care about you lifting some stupid hammer or not. I love you. Loki. Because you're that cute little idiot who knows everything and wants to learn more, and because you're brave and proud and funny. Because you're you, and you're not Thor or anyone else, and I could listen to you playing that violin for hours and I'll forever love seeing you plotting your next pranks on everybody in the Tower; and because I know you have it in you to tell them to go fuck themselves if they think they can doom you to any kind of future at all. You went through all that shit and you're not even yelling at me for taking so fucking long to rescue you. So _he_ can go to fucking hell, Loki,” he insisted, “because he doesn't know shit about you, and he doesn't know the smallest of things about how I feel for you.”

He finished his little speech with a voice that was slowly getting smaller, nervous. Perhaps he shouldn't have brought this up. Perhaps JARVIS was wrong, perhaps Loki did not have that kind of feelings for him, and he would do more damage than good by admitting how he felt?

But he heard a quiet, small, startled laughter, and then Loki clearing his throat.

“I... I love you too, Tony.”

It wasn't a confident statement yet. Tony smiled nonetheless.

And they stayed that way, each waiting for their heart to stop beating like they had run a marathon, holding to each other in that uncomfortable way, over the side of the bath, kissing neck or hair wordlessly until Loki sighed in well-being, and Tony became conscious that his little lover had fallen back asleep in his arms.

He laughed, shook his head, and carefully wrapped Loki in a towel, bringing him back to the living room and waiting again, eyes shut and body relaxed, this time, despite the uncomfortable floor of their Greenlandic friends.

They woke two hours or so later, when Mjölnir brutally shattered what part of the door had remained intact through Tony hitting it with a shovel. Thor grabbed a startled and barely awake Loki by both shoulders, eyes scanning him with worry.

“Brother! Are you wounded? What happened to you?” He pleaded to know, not seeming to notice Loki's winces of pain were increasing with his tight grip on his limbs.

Tony had no time to interfere, no matter how he wanted to the instant he realised what the fuck was going on; Loki had, and, to the surprise of the two other men, he started to shout at the top of his lungs, asking Thor what in the Nine was wrong with him and if he had bilgesnipe dung instead of a brain, that he had put no further thought in the place he was leaving him to and it wasn't even his own fault if stupid Tyr was angry.

And then Tony had the honor of receiving a look of complete distress and of a plead for help from one confused mythical God of Thunder while Thor found himself with his arms full of a crying, naked Loki ineffectively punching his chest while calling him an idiot.

He shrugged, shaking his head. Loki's complaints were legitimate, and family therapy was way too much to ask from Tony Stark. Besides, it was good that they had some clear communication between them for a change, he decided as he stood to get a look at the door, noticing the Quinjet landing in the snow with a smile of relief.

He gave Thor and Loki some privacy (although keeping an ear out in case somebody was murdering somebody else), meeting the team at the door of the house. They did look a little worse for wear, bruised and bloody, but mostly relieved that this was over with as he told them in more details of what had happened since Loki's impromptu teleportation.

“So what happened with evil and horny?” He asked carefully.

“He put up a fight,” Bucky said with a sneer. “He was positively enraged. We won, though. He's sitting nice, quiet and muzzled in the cell. As for Doom...”

“Given the damage his castle endured with the fight,” Natasha continued, “and how we actually saved his life from evil Loki's efforts to kill him, the 'useless human', I can't say I expect him to declare war for a little while, still.”

“That's that already,” Tony said, slightly relieved. “Any idea what to do with, you know, the bad guy?”

“I really would like to know why there's two of them,” Steve admitted, “but I'm not sure we'll have to do anything. He looks like... Well, it's hard to explain.”

“Try me?” Tony offered, raising an eyebrow.

“I'd figure he's doing some sort of magic, except he looked twice as hysterical and furious since it started,” Natasha analysed. “Wanda says it doesn't look like anyone's magically attacking him, either, but... If it isn't magic, then it's something even weirder.”

“He's... flickering?” Steve struggled to explain. “It's not the right word, but he's... turning transparent? You could see right through him earlier. It comes and goes, but it looks like it's getting steadily worse. He's... disappearing, somehow.”

“It doesn't look like teleportation,” Wanda precised, with a brief glance back to the jet. “I really have no idea what it is.”

“...Well, we'll put him in a box for now, and see what happens from there. Loki's safe and healing, that's the most important,” Tony said with a shrug, even though he had an idea of what was going on, and wasn't entirely displeased with it, even if it was still just a theory at this time. “Speaking of which... Thanks, guys.”

“Don't thank us.” Steve, of course, noble as always, that perfect bastard. “It's obvious it was what had to be done. I'm only sorry it took all that long before we could. He's fine, then?”

Tony meant to answer, but he then saw the Avengers' eyes moving to some place behind him. When he turned around, it was to see Loki limping out of the house, wrapped in a scarlet cape, with Thor keeping a hand on his back and looking anxiously at him as if to ensure that he was capable of walking, and a smile grew on his lips.

“Come on, team. Let's go home,” he encouraged once the two gods had joined them, taking Loki's hand in his.

They had barely taken place in the jet when the sound of tires creaking in the snow were heard surprisingly close; a young couple with familiar faces ran out of their car, eyes wide, looking from the plane to their destroyed door. Tony winced. Oh, yeah. Did anyone in the group speak Greenlandic?

Thor did, of course. He offered apologies to the startled locals, giving them the business card Tony had found in his armor, in a corner of the jet, and the promise that they would soon receive a compensation, and they did, finally, took flight to go home.

Loki fell asleep again ten minutes into the flight, his head resting in Tony's lap. Thor looked a little surprised, but said nothing. Nobody else commented.

It was another week before Loki's injuries disappeared from his pale skin entirely. Twice as long before they kissed for the first time in public, over the breakfast table; yet another week before he called Tony his lover out loud, even if it was said with a teasing tone.

Tony gave him his time. Few things really changed, in fact. Loki spent time with him in the workshop, nagging him or working with him or playing violin or falling asleep in a corner. They slept together, although they started doing the actual 'sleeping' part without first having sex, too. Loki one day, offhandedly, mentioned that Tony should make some room in his closet, because his apartment building was really too noisy and he was now coming to live here for good, whether he wanted it or not. Another time, he came home late, eyes a little red, but smiling nevertheless when he told Tony in what creative words he had told Odin and Frigga what they could do with their 'redeeming' missions.

Doom attacked New York some six months later. It was the first time Loki grabbed his scepter, his sword, and his horns and got out to fight with the Avengers in the light of day.

(New York journalists had rarely been happier. The same went for conspiracy blogs and Avengers-hating reporters.)

They kept the old Loki in the Hulk cell. Loki carefully avoided going anywhere in that direction; one of the Avengers would bring the old god some food every day, listen to a torrent of insults and threats, and go back. Thor tried to talk to him on friendly terms a few times, with absolutely no results. Each day, the old trickster's skin became more transparent.

Eventually, one day, Pietro went to bring him food, and called it in: the cell was empty. JARVIS confirmed it.

Nor Loki nor Tony said a word about it. But Loki did look like a burden with the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders when the AI relayed the information to them, in the workshop.

Loki just nodded, thanked him, and resumed to playing Vivaldi's Winter. Tony smiled up to him, and returned to tinkering with the device he was working on.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the absurdly gorgeous art I received for this fic from http://the-dreaming-grass.tumblr.com :  
> -King!Loki and Loki: http://the-dreaming-grass.tumblr.com/post/132574961210/you-and-i-we-have-a-lot-to-discuss-little  
> -Loki crying: http://the-dreaming-grass.tumblr.com/post/132575431825/and-cursing-asgard-and-honor-and-strength-he-wept  
> -Comfort after all this hurt: http://the-dreaming-grass.tumblr.com/post/132575486065/one-last-one-from-phoenix-this-one-is-not-an
> 
> I'M SO HAPPY WITH ALL OF THIS BEAUTIFUL ART!!!!!!
> 
> Again, I advise you all to run to the comic store and buy Loki: Agent of Asgard to understand the magnificience of the particular story arc that inspired me. Gillen's writing made me cry for young!Loki and King!Loki both. 
> 
> With that being said, I hope you enjoyed this fic! It's a follow-up of my previous one-shots Jailbait and Mistletoe, feel free to take a look at those, too. And please, do leave me a comment to tell me what you thought of this?
> 
> Happy Frostiron Bang!


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